Tax cuts mean less time to read, fewer hours of access per month in the prison library- no they can’t go every day. Please.

Your tax cuts take humanity away from other persons.

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Your tax cuts mean no time for therapy, no time to prepare for the living world, no time to better yourself, no strength to stay away, no better neighbourhood to return to, no vote. No voice.

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And yes, everyone deserves to be heard, even if you sold coke or weed (that’s what the majority of black men are in prison for) or killed someone or defrauded thousands of people or paid your employees too little. They are people.

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You have done wrong. Everybody has skeletons. If you’ve done your time, you should be given all your rights back.

Black History– poems about the body and freedom. This one is by Weldon J. Irvine.

Young, gifted, and blackOh what a lovely precious dream.To be young, gifted, and blackOpen your heart to what I mean.In the whole world you knowThere’s a million boys and girlsWho are young, gifted, and blackAnd that’s a fact!

You are young, gifted, and blackWe must begin to tell our young,“There’s a world waiting for you.Yours is the quest that’s just begun.When you’re feeling real lowThere’s a great truth that you should knowWhen you’re young, gifted, and blackYour soul’s intact!”

Ah to be young, gifted, and blackOh how I’ve longed to know the truth.There are times when I look backAnd I am haunted by my youth.But my joy of todayIs that we can all be proud to say,“To be young, gifted, and blackIs where it’s at! Is where it’s at! Is where it’s at!”

Who’s that dark woman
Sittin’ next to the preacher
Eyeing at his feet?
Lord, look at her.
Red hat.
Flowers.
Perfume you can smell
From here.
Look. Making a move.
Asking for water.
Clumsy thing–
All over his
Brand new shoes.
Just what she wanted.
Bending down that way,
Wonder that dress don’t split.
Pretty hair though.
Got to give her that.

by Alvin Aubert.

Black History Month- poetry, 2014.

AUBERT, ALVIN BERNARD Born March 12, 1930 in Lutcher, Louisiana, passed away on January 7, 2014.

Sometimes I feel like I will *never* stop
Just go on forever
Til one fine mornin’
I’m gonna reach up and grab me a handful stars
Swing out my long lean leg
And whip three hot strikes burnin’ down the heavens
And look over at God and say
How about that!